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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23389891">show me how to lay my sword down</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>evil parents club [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Blood and Injury, Hurt Peter Parker, Hurt Tony Stark, Hurt/Comfort, Not Avengers: Endgame (Movie) Compliant, Peter Parker Needs a Break, Peter Parker Needs a Hug, Protective Tony Stark, Stabbing, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure, Tony Stark Has A Heart</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 15:47:39</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,224</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23389891</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The suit, piloted by FRIDAY, will be here in—three and a half minutes now, seconds counting down. Until then, Peter is Tony’s last line of defense. </p><p>He grabs Mr. Stark under the arms and pulls. The puddle of blood turns to a smear as Peter drags him across the linoleum. Peter wants to throw up, and— </p><p>More than anything he wants to start <i>crying.</i> </p><p>But he can’t. He can’t. </p><p> </p><p>... </p><p>or: five times peter couldn't cry, and one time he had to.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Peter Parker &amp; Tony Stark</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>evil parents club [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1672018</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>31</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>210</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>show me how to lay my sword down</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>here i am! here it is! the sequel! </p><p>in this fic: lots of pain! not quite as much fluff. all happy endings, though-- promise. also, we're setting up for quite a bit of soft fluffy comfort in later installments. </p><p>enjoy!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>. </p><p> </p><p>. </p><p> </p><p>. </p><p> </p><p>Peter’s seen Tony stabbed once before. </p><p>It happened on Titan. </p><p>He has many terrible memories associated with Titan. Actually, he has many terrible memories in general, and here he is making new ones. Yay. </p><p>The blade slides through Tony’s body like butter. Peter watches it happen in slow motion, horror rising in him like an ocean. Words bubble to his lips, but all that comes out is a choked exhale. Somewhere deep beneath the surface, a scream is building. </p><p>There is so much buried in him, but all that escapes him is that single, choked breath. He feels the blood drain from his face, knows he must be white as a sheet. </p><p>“Peter,” Tony says, eyes still trained on the man with the knife, “<em> run. </em>” </p><p>And Peter might have a thousand words and a horrible scream building in his throat, too many terrible memories and terrified thoughts racing in his head, but he has the wherewithal to clench his fists and say, “No.” </p><p>He sees Tony close his eyes, sees the pain flickering over his face and knows it probably has nothing to do with the metal embedded in his torso. </p><p>"FRIDAY, call a suit," he mutters, and Peter's enhanced ears catch her response— </p><p>
  <em> "Four minutes out, boss."  </em>
</p><p>The knife is yanked out, and blood soaks Tony’s shirt in seconds. </p><p>A well-placed kick follows, and the billionaire groans, legs giving out. He drops to his knees, a hand in his hair forcing his chin to his chest. The freaky white-haired man holds the knife up to his face, flicks his tongue out and—<em> tastes </em> Tony’s blood. Psychotic. And disgusting, Peter thinks absently, even as his body springs into action. </p><p>The psycho sidesteps Peter's lunge and shoves Tony’s head away, still grinning, and it takes every ounce of Peter’s strength not to run to his mentor. He's locked into battle now, a fight he he can't afford to lose; he may be enhanced, but he's also unarmed. If he’s distracted—distracted over Tony’s body slumping to the ground, the blood already pooling beneath him, the <em> pain </em> he must be in— </p><p>
  <em> Focus.  </em>
</p><p>The suit, piloted by FRIDAY, will be here in—three and a half minutes now, seconds counting down. Until then, Peter is Tony’s last line of defense. </p><p>“Mr. Stark,” he yells over his shoulder, kicking and twisting to avoid a knife in his own stomach, “Mr. Stark, I’ve got this, just hold on!” </p><p>He gives no thought to the fact that he doesn’t have a mask on. </p><p>They’re alone, after all. Cornered in a dingy diner booth by a man who must’ve been stalking Tony for ages. Peter’s spidey-senses <em> screamed </em> in the instant it happened, and if the knife had been meant for him, he’d have been able to dodge, that instant enough time for a reaction. But it wasn’t, so all he had time to for was a desperate <em> “Mr. Stark” </em> before the blade was in him and the damage done. </p><p>Except for the terrified cashier hiding behind the counter and the freak with the knife—whom Peter’s certain will be taken care of after this, because he trusts Mr. Stark, trusts he’ll keep Peter’s identity safe at all costs—there’s no one around to wonder how Tony Stark’s intern suddenly gained such strength and close combat skill. </p><p>The white-haired man clearly wasn’t expecting it, at least. Peter gets the knife from him with ease and has him unconscious on the floor in less than a minute. Then and only then does he allow himself to scramble to Tony’s side. </p><p>“Mr. Stark, Mr. Stark,” he cries between gasps, a little out of breath from the fight but mostly—mostly just scared. Tony shifts, groans, and Peter takes in a shaky breath and—he’s gotta get Tony outside. Outside, and the suit will be here any second, and then—then they’ll get him to medical and everything will be fine. </p><p>He grabs Mr. Stark under the arms and pulls. The puddle of blood turns to a smear as Peter drags him across the linoleum. Peter wants to throw up, and— </p><p>More than anything he wants to start <em> crying. </em> </p><p>But he can’t. He can’t. </p><p>Once he gets him outside, lays him out where FRIDAY can see and easily reach, he yanks off his hoodie—with enough force to tear it—and balls it up and presses it hard against the wound. Mr. Stark groans again. </p><p>“Kid,” he mutters. “You—you okay?” </p><p>“I’m good, Mr. Stark, I’m good,” Peter says, blinking furiously and keeping his eyes on his hands because if he meets Mr. Stark’s gaze he will break down. And he can’t afford to break down right now. Neither of them can afford it. </p><p>The wound is bad. Worse than Titan. Tony got lucky on Titan, really lucky—Peter’s heard all sorts of stories of people surviving gunshots and stab wounds to the neck or chest or head, wounds that looked like certain death, but he’s also watched people bleed out and die from being shot someplace like their leg, a nick to the artery doing them in. With wounds like these—they can go a hundred different ways. It’s a matter of chance, and— </p><p>And this time it’s bad. Peter’s no doctor but it’s <em> bad </em> this time. </p><p>Fortune doesn’t favor Tony Stark today, it seems. </p><p>"You'll be okay, you'll be okay, you'll be okay," Peter mutters, a mantra to keep himself sane. He presses the cloth harder against Tony's body. How long has it been since the knife came out? Two minutes? Three? </p><p>"FRIDAY, how—how far?" </p><p>No response. Tony's not wearing his glasses. Peter glances back at the diner—they must've fallen off inside. </p><p>Tony doesn't respond, either, and a chill runs down Peter's spine. "Mr. Stark?" he whispers. "Mr. <em> Stark."  </em></p><p>He presses harder, and blood's starting to soak through the hoodie, and Tony just stares up at the sky, probably in shock, not dead not dead <em> not dead </em> and Peter is about to <em> lose it, </em> he can't <em> do this again—  </em></p><p>A shadow falls over them both, and Peter almost collapses from sheer relief. </p><p>The suit hovers above them, and Peter recognizes this one—the med suit. He and Tony stayed up late one night, fitting it with the necessary hardware to stabilize most major injuries. Like stab wounds. FRIDAY's programmed with ample medical knowledge; Tony will be fine. </p><p>He'll be fine. </p><p>The nanobots dissemble and reassemble around Tony's body, lifting him into the air. Peter watches, heart in his throat. FRIDAY'll get him to the compound, to the med bay, to Banner and Cho and maybe Strange if he's around today. </p><p>
  <em> Tony will be fine.  </em>
</p><p>The med suit disappears with Tony inside it. Peter sits down heavily on the pavement. He thinks of the psycho unconscious in the diner. </p><p>Maybe he should call the police. </p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>When Tony wakes, Peter's there. </p><p>He watches with a fluttering heart as his mentor groans, shifts, blinks his eyes open. He fumbles to find Tony's hand, squeezes it softly. </p><p>"H-hey, Mr. Stark." </p><p>Tony meets his gaze, cloudy and confused. Slowly, his face changes, and Peter knows he's remembering, realizing what exactly landed him in a hospital bed this time. Peter squeezes his hand again, and Tony squeezes back this time, eyes crinkling in a smile. </p><p>"Oh, kid," he says. "You did good." </p><p>Something in Peter's chest releases. </p><p> </p><p>. </p><p> </p><p>. </p><p> </p><p>. </p><p> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>please comment! i love comments! please!</p></blockquote></div></div>
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